Ironblood
by dootamin
Summary: First contact is not as peaceful as anyone hoped. A single gigantic alien ship smashes the human fleet to pieces, and drops raiding parties to the surface while the steel and bodies burn up in atmosphere. They are no smaller than their ships, and the humans can only run screaming from their boots. But man has never been known for easily giving up. A heavily AU Mass Effect story.
1. Chapter 1

++-SHANXI, 2104, FIRST CONTACT-++

United Earth. A government that had taken mankind millennia to develop, and would take millennia more to perfect. Nonetheless, General Williams had yet to see anything come close to how it ran. Never before had the vast majority of human civilization been united under one flag; not even the Romans had accomplished this so well. Humanity had finally achieved its pinnacle of society, and was climbing up. It was a new Golden Age, especially with the new Element Zero technology that had allowed them to clamber up into the stars.

Or so they had all thought.

Now, with giant monsters throwing his people into sacks, with giant guns capable of penetrating buildings being fired as though ammunition just didn't matter to these guys. Worse, the only thing Williams had heard from the fleet was that they were trying to retreat, but from the sheer number of wrecks crashing through the atmosphere right now, it seemed like they hadn't done very well.

And to top all this off, these aliens took no quarter. You became one of the thousands in a sack, or you died. No negotiations had even gone through. United Earth didn't even have a proper army any more, most fighting done ship to ship. The police generally were enough. Nobody knew how to defend themselves but the few thousand that made up the army, a mere fifty of which were present here on Shanxi, all forty of the actual riflemen already dead. Soon, that kill count would be 50.

Slapping a magazine into his rail pistol, Williams tucked it into his coat. The enemy had cracked their communications right off the bat. They knew where the military was, and had not bothered hiding that fact. Giant strides had carried them through the streets with ease, cars and APCs and even tanks just kicked aside halfheartedly. Gun emplacements didn't even penetrate their shields.

It was only natural that when they kicked down the door, they didn't even bother shooting everyone inside. Picked them all up, tossed them in bags. Williams, for his part, decided to try something new. When that ugly four-eyed giant freak grabbed him, William had his pistol in hand. He discharged it point blank into the soft flexible part between the thumb and forefinger, watching as the bullet penetrated the cloth-like material.

The giant growled in pain, squeezing reflexively, and the defense of Shanxi ended.

++-_ABOVE SHANXI: FIVE HOURS AFTER CONTACT_-++

The UESV Lazarus sat silently in a slowly decaying orbit. Everyone inside sat at the windows, hardsuits on but helmets off, waiting for the oxygen to deplete before relying on their suits. They had been hit by one of the supermassive rounds from the alien fleet after it penetrated a ship in front of them. Surprisingly no critical systems had gone offline- not even life support- but thinking quickly, Captain Richter had killed the reactor. That was the plan for now: feign death and try to get home to warn everyone.

So they all sat by the window to watch their planet, their charge, fall. No telltale marks of gunfire or shots traded, just shuttles landing and returning, presumably laden with thousands of their people. Every flight was a marked failure by humanity to protect itself. Every crumbling ship that burned up in atmosphere reminded them of just how weak humanity really was. That lone alien vessel that carved their fleet to dust was burned into their minds, the white fire of its engines and blinking lights of its- presumably- sensors forever burned into their minds.

They all watched it together as they clicked their helmets on at the Captain's order. The hermetic seals formed and they quietly drifted, floating ever so slowly around their planet, watching shuttles leave, return, leave, return, leave, return.

Leave.

Return.

They were running now, but one day they would all fight. One day these alien fuckers, these giants, would know that humanity didn't balk at a challenge. Right now they were leaving.

But one day, they would return. Maybe not in their lifespans. Not with this power difference, not with this level they'd have to claw their ways up to. Soon enough, the vessel left, shuttles safely packed in its belly. It jumped out of the system faster than any human ship could ever hope to charge its FTL drive. It took with it the population of Shanxi.

Immediately, all hands rushed to their stations as the reactor lit back up. Lights flickered on, and a holomap appeared in front of the Captain's chair.

And the Lazarus reignited its sublight drives, turning to limp back through the Relay, back to Earth. They had to be warned.

++-_UNITED EARTH HQ, EARTH: THREE DAYS AFTER CONTACT-++

Deep beneath the Earth's surface, two people watched the long footage in silence, all having read the reports.

On the left sat the representative for the militants of mankind, those in favor of rule by force and eliminating threats to United Earth with military power: Fritz "the Hawk" Klingenberg, a tall, pale, and thin man with a hook nose and heavy brow. His position in the left chair reflected the relative powerlessness of his party, theirs a stance that had been rapidly diminishing over ten years as most planets proved to have harmless wildlife and fewer and fewer people opposed United Earth.

On the right sat the woman at the head of United Earth's diplomatic party, Ellen White. Her name reflected nothing of her appearance, entirely East Asian features with a small and somewhat round stature. Seated to the right, she reflected the popularity of peace talks.

In the middle of it all was the being in charge of all mankind: System. Being was the only word for the sentient superstructure that underlie all of humanity's infrastructure, its many nodes stretched out across worlds and relays through QEC binary. It was the perfect and impartial mediator and final executive decision maker for United Earth. Originally something highly contested, it sat where it was now through a mix of the two stances at its right and left hands. The tall black obelisk, housing the crystal superstructure of System's mind, glowed at a point of simple green light, pretending to watch the video with the humans.

"It's time to start building up our military," Klingenberg pointed out. "We have to reactivate the Defense Research Committee. Military forces need to be exponentially increased in size."

On the other side was White. "We need to put understanding their language first. Despite having broken into our comms and all, I doubt they can understand what we say- they probably found the headquarters by looking at comm traffic. They don't seem inclined to try, so we need to be the ones to initiate peace talks."

Sniffing, Klingenberg shook his head and spat, "There will *be* no peace talks, White. They made that plenty clear. The xenos want us, and they want us dead or under their thumb. No comm hails were answered."

"It's possible they merely don't communicate the same way we do."

"What, QEC comms for every member of an army? That seems unlikely."

"And yet, we couldn't trace them."

"Because we're behind technologically and they have a real military. Which we don't."

A blaring sound emitted from System's obelisk.

[PLAN ESTABLISHED], came the order over their neural lacing. [MILITARY FORCE INSUFFICIENT FOR PEACE TALKS. NO POSITION OF POWER. PRIORITY ONE: MILITARY REFIT AND EXPANSION. PRIORITY TWO: UNDERSTAND LANGUAGE.]

The green light blinked red, and the two associates of System affirmed over the lace. The debate was over- they had to go put their plans into motion with the budget given to them. Opposing sides of a coin or not, Fritz and Emma got along pretty well, and neither would dare to disobey System.

System stayed where it was, silently reviewing the information over and over. Projection software was not making pleasant guesses. It immediately realized that sheer scale had humanity at a disadvantage. Infantry was effectively useless. Even heavy vehicles- or what had once been heavy- were effectively ultralight in comparison to their foot soldiers. And that was before factoring in whatever ground vehicles these aliens set out.

For a long time, humanity had just thought plants usually grew much bigger than their animals. System suspected that was not always the case, or even frequently. It needed an answer to the problem of the giants.

Logging that reflection, System sent a few ideas to the newly reinstituted DRC.


	2. Chapter 2

++- **EDEN PRIME: 2114, TEN YEARS AC** -++

The shuttle rocked through the storm as the marines inside stared at the red deployment light. They glanced from one to another through their new uniforms' helmets. Like most of the United Earth Military equipment, their armor had been stripped down to focus on mobility. They wore what amounted to soft space suits with helmets, focused on mobility above all else- not like even the heaviest armor could stop Giant bullets, anyways. Sixteen year old Lieutenant Hackett's breath fogged on the wide visor of his helmet.

The shuttle bucked again as thunder cracked outside. Another Giant ship had been detected, and the UEM had moved as quickly as it could to get in position before they landed. The fleet had charged ahead to buy them as much time to evacuate as possible. Already, civilians were loading themselves onto evacuation ships. The first were exiting orbit now.

The shuttle swung around, over the various gun emplacements that had been hastily thrown together in the time since the last giant raid. When you didn't need to think about armor (or even longevity) it was very easy to thrown down a defense grid. There were a shocking thirty guns defending Eden Prime now, compared to the measly four that had been in place the first time. Humanity intended to show the giants that they'd fight tooth and nail for every citizen of their species.

Hackett was no less determined. The job of Marines had become a crazy, almost suicidal one. Instead of the assault or battle rifles previously forming the standard, all Marines now carried specialized super-heavy railguns. Inaccurate at long range with a steep damage drop-off after just 500 meters, the railguns were essentially designed to fight giants as cheaply as possible. As the shuttle touched down on the asphalt, still marked from the last Giant incursion, Marines scattered wide. They ducked into the sewers, hid inside low-rise buildings and ruined structures, tucked themselves into the alleys Giants couldn't easily get into.

A warning siren was blaring through the storm.

"All ground forces," the local commander called out, "prepare for incursion. Repeat, prepare for incursion. One giant ship detected, entering orbit above Eden Prime. Seventeenth Armored, report to central square and prepare for rapid deployment. All Marines, dig in and await further orders."

Hackett tucked himself into the space between a dumpster and a building, inside an alley, doing his best to remain hidden. The long, blocky, and awkward shape of the railgun in his arms was hardly comforting- Hackett knew it alone would never even penetrate Giant shields.

Above the city, the roar of massive engines could be heard.

"Shit, they're early!" Someone was shouting over the comms, quickly muted by Eden Prime Command. He was right. The tanks were still rolling by Hackett's position, operators exposed to the storm, armor completely removed. The big guns on top, locked to a very small amount of mobility only useful for aiming, were a recent addition at System's request. Nobody liked losing the ability to rotate the turret, but it was the only way to fit such a big damn gun on top. The tankers complained about it all the time. Hackett, personally, was just glad to have bigger guns on his side.

The first Giant shuttle splashed down through the cloud cover, and the second defense of Eden Prime began properly. Gun emplacements boomed, the sound reverberating through the dark alley. Distant screams of terrified civilians could be heard, and Hackett watched the super-heavy railgun rounds sail overhead, streaks of fire following them as they burned their way through the atmosphere towards the massive shuttle.

Amazingly, it didn't actually seem to be shielded, and the rounds impacted its armor. Hackett couldn't help himself- he had poked his head up and over the side of the dumpster to watch. The rain pouring down and rolling off his visor made it a bit difficult, but any idiot could track the streaks of light and see them sparking off the shuttle. One hit the engines, and the shuttle lurched, veering off course. It sailed over Hackett, and a minute later he heard the heavy impact.

"Ground forces, System wants us to move in to that shuttle and finish off any Giants inside. Go, Marines! Go, go, go!"

Command's voice came over the comms and Marines crept from their hiding places. The original strategy of hide and wait for the Giants to touch down must have been abandoned, then.

Hackett stumbled out from his hiding place somewhat awkwardly, the railgun having caught on the edge of the dumpster. Cursing, he began the run towards the crash site. Overhead, the guns started up again, firing on shuttles that spent much less time dilly-dallying over the city. The booms echoed through the streets, Marines and tanks rolling to their newly shuffled destinations as fast as they could. Hackett caught up with a group of three, running through alleys towards the rising column of smoke.

Streaks and reports of gunfire were easily visible at the end of the alley, as well as the raucous cries and laughter of the giants, so loud they nearly drowned out the gunfire. Hackett hung a left, aiming to come around the side. His boots splashed through puddles, and he toggled the safety on his railgun.

He skidded around the corner. A giant stood there, facing the main force. Its assault rifle chattered with ear shaking force, bullets hosing out to presumably murder dozens of Hackett's comrades. Leveling the rifle at the target too big to miss, Hackett opened fire with a boom. The railgun round hurtled towards the giant, splashing against its shields alongside a thousand others from the other flanking forces. The giant seemed concerned by this turn of events, trying to back out, but it had overcommitted and underestimated. Human tanks and infantry were now much more suited to fighting giants than they had been the last time.

But not quite enough.

From behind, another force of giants approached. They could see them all the way at the end of the street, presumably having landed in a place they could evade direct fire from the emplacements. So apparently the giants weren't stupid- they had just underestimated the human ability to adapt.

Booming gunfire from the human forces didn't stop. The tanks focused on accomplishing their goal. The threatened giant's shields were hammered, wavering but unbroken.

Hackett and the marines did not let up, their railguns booming even as gunfire began to rake over their positions. There was no higher purpose behind this. Nobody was thinking to themselves, "in this moment we will make history."

The Giant's shields broke, under concentrated fire from all the defenders.

But the opportunity, it seemed, would be wasted. The tanks were gone, shot to pieces by the flanking force, and the marines were scattered. Giants were dropping, and packing soldiers into sacks, just like the first time. The command channel was filled with panicked cries, as guns went down and facilities were destroyed.

Hackett made the decision that changed the war not because he was a hero, but because he was scared. He turned and ran, and rallied as many marines as possible behind him, to run away too.

They turned and ducked between buildings, finding grates for sewers to cower in. Some of them hid in dumpsters; others still hid in basements. Hackett was part of the sewer group, hurrying underground and ushering in as many marines as he could before making his escape. There would be no escaping the planet, not anymore. Not until the giants eventually left. Hidden beneath the city, Hackett watched as the most defended colony in human space fell.

His eyes were hard behind the visor, as were those of the other marines. They all knew the giants knew they were there; what made it horrible was that the giants knew they were there and didn't bother grabbing them because it wasn't worth the time. Hackett's helmet and rifle felt like they weighed a million pounds, and his armor seemed to drag him down to the ground.

The only reason the marines weren't being grabbed was because the civilians already had been. Somewhere in orbit, the giant ship had grabbed those civilians evacuating.

++- **DEFENSE RESEARCH COMMITTEE: ONE MONTH AND THREE DAYS AC** -++

The marines rescued from the surface of Eden Prime had been a valuable wealth of knowledge. The scientists and researchers had spent hours poring over the footage, tracking the effectiveness of the new weapons and tank designs. They had little time to prepare before the next attack, they were sure, but the giants had abandoned Eden Prime, knowing humans were still there. Unlike Shanxi, it hadn't been converted to a staging field or anything of the sort.

"They're after us," someone said, stating the obvious.

The unwavering light of a System node stared over the conversation.

"We need to figure out why," an optimistic researcher commented. "If we can figure out why, maybe we can, I dunno, appeal to them, or strike where they're weak."

A younger man shook his head. "No, we need to find a way to gain leverage first. Even with our new guns, we haven't scored a single kill on the ground. That shuttle going down was a whole _city_ of concentrated fire."

The room was quiet. A month ago, perhaps someone would have disputed in favor of dialogue, but everyone had seen the footage by now.

"I don't think we can brute force this," the younger researcher said. "We need to figure out a way to get past their shields. We know they don't hug the skin thanks to General Williams' way out."

Everyone frowned for a moment.

"Mobility, then? Maybe if we can get our troops in close," a new voice suggested.

"Won't work- not with any level of consistency, and we can't break their armor over traditional weak points with infantry-size weapons."

"Then we need to get bigger, right?"

The room frowned.

And then somebody had an idea.

 **Author's Note 10/15/2019**

Adjusted timeline to fit a logical tech progression. Minor rewrites to reflect this.


	3. Chapter 3

**++-SHANXI, JUNE 2154-++**

General Desolas Arterius had a headache.

This was supposed to be easy. Tiny aliens with no real way of penetrating armor. It had been three months since the capture of alien soldiers over an unnamed planet, but a lot had changed in a very short amount of time.

Namely, the realization that those soldiers were actually civilians.

Arterius was no pirate or slaver, but he now had these aliens on his hand. Feeding them had been challenging, to say the least, and the Council was starting to ask questions about the _Turian Military_ ordering Levo foodstuffs when they weren't at war or, technically, in possession of POWs. Pressure from Palaven was growing to wrap up the subjugation of these aliens, dubbed 314s for now, before Spectres got involved.

But of course, it was never that easy. The 314s had started obfuscating the relay paths by moving the relays to places between systems. Another major infraction on Council law and common sense. Worse, the ships his men captured had developed a habit of self destruction. Seven marines, all good turians, had lost their lives to the madness of the 314 aliens.

A ping resounded from Desolas's omni-tool, a notification from the science department. Bad news. The self destruct mechanism of one of the ships had been disabled by an enterprising young marine- Desolas felt his mandibles drop in surprise at the name Saren Arterius, when had he become a part of this- and the ship had been captured. The 314s were even crazier than he'd thought; rudimentary AI piloted their ships in lieu of crews, allowing more civilians to be packed on during their escapes.

He threw a glass of turian brandy across the office angrily, watching it shatter against a shadowbox containing various medals. Anyone could have heard that, and did, the ensign at the door shifted uncomfortably. Growling, Desolas tried to calm himself. They needed to make headway soon, for this had just become a war for the sake of the galaxy.

They did not.

 **++-SHANXI ORBIT, DECEMBER 2154-++**

Grissom watched the looming planet from the comfort of the _Valhalla._ It felt strange knowing their "fleet" consisted of two massive motherships and a veritable legion of the tiny refitted frigates, dubbed "glass cannons" by the enlisted who built them. Flew against all conventional military tactics; but then, so did the whole damn war. He hated this shit, but other than Hackett, the other guy in charge of this fleet, nobody could be counted on to do this.

"Sir, incoming call from the _Asphodel_ ," the _Valhalla_ AI stated bluntly. The damn things still made him uncomfortable, but it wasn't like they had a choice; AIs were uncreative but very, very efficient. They had kept the loss of human life to a minimum since their introduction.

"Patch Hackett in," Grissom sighed. When the scratchy image appeared, he saluted half-heartedly and got a dark chuckle for his troubles.

"Grissom," Hackett greeted. "Your boys ready for this?" Stupid question, in Grissom's opinion, but a necessary one for the bureaucrats.

"Ever since we left Earth, kid," he growled. "Let's do this."

The fleet had flown in the slow way. Six months of travel from the nearest relay had worn everyone's nerves to the barest thread. All for another little, temporary edge, anything to get them an upper hand in the battle ahead. Approaching from the wrong relay, from what (hopefully) the aliens would consider the safe side. The mass effect generator hummed down and the fleet snapped into position above Shanxi.

Already the aliens were scrambling to face them. Apparently their sensors outclassed human ones. Another technological edge to overcome.

"Fleet," Grissom ordered, "Open fire. And let the mad dogs loose."

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. How? How had they snuck up on him? Desolas watched in horror as tiny ships no better than self propelled guns ganged up on Turian frigates like tiny insects with a hellish fury. Individually they were weak, and even as a group they did not match the firepower of a frigate, but the scattered nature made them impossible to destroy quickly.

And what in the name of the Spirits were those weird, bulbous vessels? They were big, slow, lightly armored- he had assumed scaled up fighter-carriers, like before with 314 tactics, but no legion of fighters had swarmed out. Instead, each dropped three turian-sized pods to the surface of Shanxi, plummeting towards his headquarters. Already, marines were in defensive positions, and AA laser batteries were warmed up to shoot down what they could.

Something was terribly wrong. Desola could feel it in his bones. The 314s ought to be running scared, or trying to pick off ships and run back like guerrilla fighters. They were instead holding their ground. It wouldn't last, anyone could see that; soon enough the relay fleet would arrive. It had to be those pods- chemical weapons? Biological? They were aiming to cut off the head of command- namely, Desolas.

He had everyone seal up their suits and hunker down, awaiting the bombs.

[ _Hello, Lieutenant Anderson._ ] The cold wash in the back of Anderson's head greeted him stiffly. The AI was impersonal, efficient. He wasn't too happy with it being there; having something sentient connected to his brain, even if it could only talk, was spooky. It was, however, far less spooky than the nest of wires hooked into his spine.

 _A neural interface is the only way to control everything at once,_ Anderson remembered the DRC scientist saying. _If you want to quit the program, we'll understand_. He hadn't- it seemed like there was not really any better choice if he wanted to help.

[ _Initializing Combat Assistance Systems_ …]

The Heads Up Display flickered into reality in the darkness. A bar monitoring his kinetic barriers, a reactor fuel gauge, an armor integrity estimate. A breath later, external cameras clicked on, showing the inside of the drop capsule.

[ _Initializing control subsystems_ …]

An armored steel hand raised into view. Anderson's hand. It flexed, closed, and opened, rotating before reaching out and grabbing a support beam inside the pod. When they touched down, he could give it a shove and be outside in an instant.

[ _Initializing Weapon Readout_ …]

A shoulder mounted autocannon based on captured alien firearms. A handheld axe with an edge kept sharp and superheated by some weird technology Anderson didn't totally understand; something based on the bright orange gloves he'd seen the aliens use. A sidearm that folded out of the left hip, and a missile launcher with three missiles.

[ _LOKI M.E.C.H. Initialized._ ]

"Thanks, Sig," Anderson said earnestly. Sigyn was the LOKI AI's full name, but it was a little awkward to say in full. Some egghead must have felt a little intellectual when naming the AI-robot combo. All that was something Anderson could easily put up with; the AI had made a huge difference in stability from the initial, human only tests.

The LOKI rolled its massive shoulders. It felt surprisingly responsive for something so massive; Anderson had expected it to be slow, but much like the aliens it was designed to fight, it could turn on a dime and was very maneuverable.

The pod began to rumble, and temperature readings suggested they had just hit atmosphere. Not too much longer, then.

"Dah, Harper, you guys still with me?"

"Aye-aye, el-tee," Jill Dah responded snarkily. The massive woman had quickly become a friend of Anderson.

"Green," a cold voice answered. Harper. He and Anderson never really saw eye to eye- Harper preferred results above all.

The three mech pilots dropped through the atmosphere, running through their startup checklists again, making sure everything was perfect. Anderson double and triple checked the axe- it was the most challenging thing to get stable, but it was powerful because- at least in the tests- it moved slow enough to bypass kinetic barriers. The edge was prone to failure, but it would still hurt without it.

And before long, with a bang, they hit the ground.

Everyone was waiting. Saren Arterius watched his men from a bunker room with dozens of viewscreens. Helmet cams and stationary cameras were his eyes, dotted across the three structures that formed Base 314's North Quadrant. Each was a small, one-room bunker with an entrance on each side and a slat to shoot out of on the north-facing side. His bunker was a room with no slats, behind the three buildings. A quarter mile behind him: central command, the place his brother worked.

The turian marines slowly poked their heads up from bunkers and fortifications to stare at the trio of pods. The other three had landed on the south side of the base, nearer the generators. None had exploded like command had warned, leaving the marines somewhat confused. They all watched as a piece of the round pods blasted off several feet, clattering to the ground.

The watching pretty quickly became shooting when they realized what was inside.

Much to everyone's surprise, the kinetic barriers on these things actually held up to some gunfire. It took more than a moment of concentrated fire to make them look stressed. These guys, whoever they were, were good, too; they ducked and weaved between plants with speed expected from Blackwatch and accuracy normally left to the world of turrets.

Had anyone even taken down their shields yet?

"Spirits! Focus, men," Saren shouted into the comms as he grabbed his rifle and got ready to assist. The three had landed across a small forest from the outside of the base and were advancing, using the trees for cover after traveling the distance in record time, as if they had no need to pause to stay out of fire. While the rounds from their weird, shoulder mounted guns were impressively powerful, they didn't seem to hold sustained fire, and were not significantly more effective than a turian assault rifle.

It wasn't long before the three soldiers were inside the first building. The four marines inside it all tried and failed to kill them as they approached the left-side door and kicked- kicked it down? How strong were they? Where had the tiny 314s _found_ these guys? The one in front swung a black axe with a glowing orange end down into an unfortunate turian, who screamed in agony as the superheated edge separated him from his right arm and shoulder. Thankfully, he was put out of his misery soon after.

The remaining three turians advanced to and concentrated fire on the lead soldier as the other two struggled to get into the now-crowded doorway. Its barriers finally collapsed under the concentrated fire and mass effect rounds began slamming into its armor. Sparks rained down and it staggered to its right as they threw it off balance, but it held under the fire.

These were supposed to be primitives, dammit.

An enterprising marine took that stagger as an opportunity to rush forwards and grapple the soldier, attempting to take him down. However, the other two could now enter the building and riddled him with holes. The firefight became very difficult to follow from the cameras then as something smacked said camera and knocked it out of alignment. The results, however, were not hard to discern at all. Blue turian blood spattered against the lens.

Shutting off the screens, Saren affixed his helmet. Time show these 314s what a real soldier was like.

"All North squads: Divide and Conquer."

As Harper and Dah finished off the last of the aliens, Anderson's LOKI clambered to its feet. The impacts hadn't penetrated his armor, thankfully, but he could see that a couple of his actuators were damaged and overall efficiency was reduced by almost 10%. Not good to happen so early.

"Be more careful next time, Anderson," Dah said playfully. "How's it feel to be the first marine to score a kill on one of these X-rays?"

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled good-naturedly. "It's not the worst feeling, after Eden Prime." Harper nodded his assent, and the trio got ready to go again as Anderson's barrier recharged. The aliens were most likely intimidated by their tactics. At least, Anderson hoped so.

Two more aliens were ballsy enough to rush in, but in close quarters, the three mechs hacked them apart without even dropping barriers.

After flicking steaming blue blood off his blade, Harper peeked out of one door. Aggressive streams of mass accelerator fire deterred him from doing any more than that.

"X-rays have eyes on," the man said as if he hadn't just seen the rounds whizz in front of his eyes. Which he technically hadn't, but with how similar these mechs felt to a real body, Anderson was surprised by. The ice in Harper's veins had no limit.

"Jesus, Harp," Dah echoed unknowingly. "Be more careful. Looks like we're pinned down for now. What do we do, Anderson?"

The big Amazon hefted the axe in her arms. Anderson puzzled over it for a few seconds before issuing orders. Looked like, for the time being, they had a physical advantage. Might as well use it.

Nobody wanted to push _that_. Saren couldn't blame them. The massacre on cams and comms was truly brutal. Those axes had to have been designed to get around barriers. Krogan had always employed fundamentally similar tactics, if generally favoring their bare hands. No Citadel race had bothered because none really had the individual toughness required to get into melee without being shot.

So that begged the question; what were these? Saren had an inkling; the AI, the rapid changes to fleet structure, the intelligent short term solutions to ground combat. 314s had always shown a knack for tech. Most likely, AI robots had been sent to kill them. Expensive to make something so huge by their standards, but he doubted they had much of a choice.

As he loaded new programs onto his omni, Saren warned his men to prepare just in time for the back wall of the fortification to explode outwards. Not the worst idea ever, but not tactical genius; Saren had pulled his men back to lie prone in the fields and fight at range. A staggered retreat to make sure nobody was exposed.

In theory, a perfect plan, but he had underestimated just how tough the 314 robots could be. They also made a mistake in splitting their fire; a third of his forces for each machine. Again, logically sound, but underestimating.

Those miscalculations were going to cost him, he realized, as the silver soldiers covered the distance with discomforting speed.

The axe came down on a soldier too terrified to do anything but shoot with a sickening crunch. They were green, Anderson realized suddenly. These were not veterans, they were kids. They had done awful things to his people, so pity was in short supply, but the thought still discomforted him. How much worse would this have gone if these aliens were veterans?

The bastard in front of him hadn't thought to get up, but the others had realized their plan wasn't working and scrambled upright. Most kept firing, but a couple smarter ones tossed aside their rifles and extended reddish-orange blades from those glove things. Anderson thought they looked awfully similar to the end of his axe, and made a note to not get stabbed by one.

The two swordsmen charged him. Catching one off guard with a hilt strike, Anderson got the melee back under his control. He attempted to swing the axe back around to finish the job, but the x-ray's pal grabbed the haft. They learned quick.

A heavy kick to the torso… did surprisingly little. The LOKI was heavier than it looked; its smallish frame was packed tight with complex synthetic muscle, mass effect generators, and heavy armor.

Anderson kicked back, suppressing a laugh as the enemy stumbled over something comically, falling on his ass with his feet in the air. Then he remembered he was in a warzone as the other x-ray, arm dangling but still in the fight, stabbed that sword of his into Anderson's-

He cursed loudly. That hurt, bad, worse than being stabbed in the arm for real. A drawback of the neural controls?

Angry, he swiped the axe into the surprised alien. It had hurt, and the left arm was weaker than it ought to be, but he could still use it. The glowing end sizzled and the alien cried out as it bit into the neck, down through the torso, and all the way through. Steaming hunks of alien plopped to the ground as bullets- pellets? What were you supposed to call them again?- snapped against his armor. Lunging forwards, he continued the fight.

Alien one. Haft to the skull. Lucky shot cracked optical sensor.

Alien two. Axe across the belly. Knife stuck in the shoulder gun.

Alien three. Missile. Continuous fire was wearing down his armor, subsystems were starting to come apart on him.

Alien four. Something was different. Unfortunately, Anderson's kinetic barriers were toast; the generator had been shot up. Gauging his options, the axe remained the best bet. The alien held him at gunpoint for a long moment, before touching a hand to the side of its head. A moment later, external comms picked up… English.

English?

"You should be dead," said a voice that sort of _buzzed_. The alien cocked its head in a 'you understand me, right' gesture.

"Well, I'm not," Anderson growled after a moment. "Got a name?"

"Not for you," it snarled back, throwing a hand out. For a second, Anderson had no idea what he was looking at. Then the blue fields registered, and then he was flying back. As the LOKI sailed through the air, Anderson watched Dah cut down the last of the normal aliens and Harper start shooting at the blue glowy one.

Then he landed. Something broke in the right arm, and the axe snapped. White hot pain blinded him- no, wait that was the optical sensor being crushed against the ground. For a second, Anderson was watching the cockpit, seeing his body spasm in agony, before the backup cameras kicked in and a less pretty, and slightly shorter, view of the world kicked in. The sound of gunfire and several explosions tried to rouse him, but Anderson just laid there for a minute.

His ears were ringing, and he could taste blood. But eventually, ever the soldier, he staggered to his- his mech's- feet.

[ _War- g, -fe SIIIIIIgns Critititit-l_ ], Sigyn said into his ear, voice crackling with static. Damn, the AI housing must have been hit.

Coming to his senses, Anderson surveyed the battlefield. To his horror, Dah and Harper's mechs were smoking ruins. It looked like they'd been hit by their own missiles- had that alien done something to them? A moment later, electric agony wracked Anderson's body. As the pain cleared in seconds, and was nowhere near as bad as the landing, he stayed up.

"Not bad," the alien commented. It thrust its hand out again, but this time Anderson was ready. A LOKI couldn't really combat roll due to its proportions, but he could step like no human could ever hope to. A hop and he was three feet left, sprinting forwards towards the alien, who was glowing with ebon energy again, ready to do _something_ to him.

An idea. "Sig, you thinking what I'm thinking?"

[ _-irmative, Li-nant._ ]

His last two missiles launched and-

-sailed past the alien as a whitish field locked the LOKI in place.

"You missed me," the alien chuckled.

"Wasn't aiming for you," Anderson countered. The alien whipped around, watching as the missiles crashed into the command building. The creature fell to its knees as the field holding Anderson died. He grabbed the sidearm from its holding place and swiftly marched up to the keening x-ray.

In a fit of mercy, he slammed the back of its head instead, and it fell unconscious to the dirt.

"Harper, Dah," he said into the comms.

"Ugh, fuck. Alive, but hurt bad," Dah coughed.

"Mech's wrecked," Harper stated.

Anderson sighed in relief, and just as the worry about finishing up the battle without barriers or backup began to set in, he got a notification from Sig.

[ _Inco- ng Call: Admi- ckett._ ]

Patching him through, Anderson relaxed, LOKI dropping to its knees as the news washed over him. Thank God.

Unbeknownst to the ground team, a Citadel fleet had decided to investigate. Turian attempts at stalling had fallen through, finally, when a whistleblower gave a Spectre the casualty statistics for the unofficial Relay 314 campaign. It had taken the ships a little while to get there, and at first they didn't even believe what they were seeing. However, a ship that had urgently tried to warn Palaven of the events on Shanxi that day inadvertently led to the Citadel fleet catching on.

Fighting did not stop immediately; humanity had sent some small attachments of people out to travel manually, without relays, without contact, for surprise attacks on turian emplacements. What seemed to be breaches of the treaty mere months after its signing by humanity would sour human-turian relations for years to come.

June 2154. Peace talks between Alliance and Council forces come to a close, and the Alliance warns of teams sent well outside communications range to attack turian emplacements. An outrage ensues, but nothing can be done. The Turian Hierarchy attempts to use this as an excuse to restart the war, a motion swiftly shut down by the other members of the Council.

July 7, 2154. Jill Dah released from the ICU in Vancouver General. Dah remained with the Alliance, eventually fully recovering from the electrical burns and shrapnel wounds she received in her duel with Saren. Her military career would continue, with somewhat less panache but no less effectiveness.

August 4, 2154. The last human stealth attack has occurred, but surprisingly they are unable to be dealt with and escape.

August 14, 2154. Jon Grissom earned another medal to show for the war, but stayed secluded in spite of this. The Jon Grissom academy was expanded to include mech piloting, something he disapproved of, never having been a pilot himself.

September 2, 2154. Jack Harper disappeared. His wounds, including the loss of his eyes, were treated on Earth, and he received an honorable discharge soon after. Although he remained in history books as one of the first humans to pilot a mech, he soon faded from the public eye, and then public memory. A psychiatrist's note about sociopathic tendencies is swept under the rug.

September 14, 2154. Citadel law explicitly bans AI, but the human military has bent over backwards for them, and civilian life has long since integrated them into extranet culture and homes. A loophole is ruled acceptable when enterprising politician Donnel Udina observes that, as worded, classifies the emotionless and inherently subservient Alliance AI as VIs. Everybody knows they aren't, but it allows for peace, and for Citadel space to take advantage of new technology. Over the next year, Udina will make many similar deals, his work one of the reasons the Alliance earns back some of the standing it lost in the stealth attacks.

January 11, 2155. David Anderson is selected as the first human Spectre candidate, an olive branch offered to humanity. While humans are far from becoming a Council race, due to the many concessions and compromises they made to become an associate member, the Council's display of gratitude upsets the Turian Hierarchy. They see it as devaluing the lives lost in the treaty breaching attacks.

February 2156. What is supposed to be a routine training mission for Trainee Spectre Anderson goes terribly wrong. Many nonhuman civilians are killed, the blame for which is put onto the rookie Spectre's shoulders. Anderson loses the position, and once again humanity is viewed with suspicion.

July 2156. Reports of side effects from first-gen neural interfaces begin to crop up. Phantom pains, cerebral palsy, brain tumors- a whole slew of nervous issues. Captain Anderson is one of the lucky few who is simply barred from piloting MECHs for long periods of time, something he is observed to be bitter about.

May 31, 2160. Gen2 Neural Interfaces release. They promise better control with fewer side effects.

2162\. The year of slavery. Batarians have little use for human slaves in a practical sense, but they make for enticingly exotic pets. Batarian slaving operations on human colonies in Terminus space begin, something fiercely opposed by the Alliance.

2163\. Over the course of a year it swiftly becomes apparent that "playing tall" will not work on a galactic scale. While far superior to Batarian pirate forces, Alliance MECHs are too few and far between to mount an effective defense. The DRC, now almost a separate entity from Alliance military forces, begins working to repair that. Critics note that boots on the ground had picked up on this as early as February 2162, and wonder if the divide between the DRC and MECH Corps slowed the response.

February 2164. MECH technology becomes sufficiently understood to mass produce. Alliance forces change from a tiny, elite standing army to more conventional tactics. While they still field fewer, tougher soldiers than most races, the disparity is smaller. More importantly, perhaps, is the creation of civilian MECHs, manually operated AI assisted vehicles that allow humans to coexist with aliens of all kinds. This leads to many new services and industries booming.

November 2170. The side effects of Gen2 interfaces and the invasive, lethal reality of the installation procedure are no longer able to be kept secret. The Steel Riot begins, with construction MECHs becoming weapons of mass destruction in what becomes remembered as the Alliance's bloodiest day.

December 12, 2171. Gen3 Neural Interfaces are released. They are marginally less efficient than Gen2s, but far safer for the operator.

April 11, 2172. Jane Shepard, a mysterious young redhead whose background check only returned "I'm from Detroit," enlists with the Alliance Navy as part of the MECH Pilot Corps. MECH Classification: Sentinel.

May 4, 2176. Skyllian Blitz. Shepard becomes a hero for her incredible feats in defense of Elysium with only a demilitarized LOKI MECH from the local war museum. Civilians comment on her selflessness and heroism; Shepard becomes the face of Alliance bravery.

June 11, 2177. Akuze. Shepard is stranded after investigating a colony gone dark. When the rescue team arrives, they find her lying half naked, completely still, atop a pile of destroyed MECHs. Analysis suggests Thresher Maws, but Shepard never spoke about it.

October 3, 2178. The Torfan raid. Shepard, having risen quickly through the ranks thanks to her effectiveness and fame, is in charge for this operation. Soldiers are intimidated by her brutal efficiency with the claymore. Batarian pirates would fear tales of the "Butcher of Torfan" for years to come. It is seen as very out of character, and her status as the Butcher was hushed up by Alliance brass.

February 8, 2183. The stealth frigate _SSV Normandy_ is commissioned by Palaven and Earth together as a show of goodwill. Not long after its completion, captaincy is transferred to David Anderson, and Commander Jane Shepard is stationed aboard.

February 24, 2183. Captain Anderson receives a new task: to pick up a Prothean beacon from Eden Prime.

 **Author's Note**

Hey, folks. Well, uh, hell of a wait we had there. My bad. Life got in the way. Hopefully won't be on a hiatus like that again. Expect monthly chapters.

 **Author's Note 10/15/2019**

Minor rewrites to the effect of correcting the timeline. Human tech progression now happens over decades instead of months.


	4. Interlude 1

_**Codex: A Short History of Humanity (2025-2154)**_

As early as 2025, human robots were capable of walking and doing simple labor jobs. Balance remained difficult for them, but successful emulation of muscles by Boston Dynamics led to the Dynamic Synthetic Musculature technology that would form the basis of all bipedal robots for decades.

AI technology continued to progress; the experimental self teaching AI of the 2010s eventually developed into self-aware "cold AI" in 2031. While some experimented with emotional AI, their accelerated thinking usually led to unstable individuals, an existence most agreed was too sad to allow to continue. As such, most AI do not have premade emotional algorithms. Nonetheless, they are well known to develop on their own, even now.

Humanity made it to Mars in 2044, with the help of technologies developed by SpaceX and a newfound interest in the stars stemming from dwindling oil reserves. The Martian colonists stumbled across alien ruins, confirmed long standing theories about Mars once having an alien presence. The technologies uncovered there rapidly advanced human technology, especially in the fields of starships and robotics.

SpaceX lost its lead when ExoGeni, in 2062, developed the first FTL drive, using principles they dubbed the "mass effect." While countless copycats would appear, ExoGeni remains to this day the lead designer of human starships, and retains a contract with the Alliance to produce military vessels.

In 2067, the Resource Wars began. One thing FTL had yet to bring Earth was oil. It was a necessity for lubricant, for plastics, and for the newly discovered plasteel. No military could function without it. So, when the Alaskan shale oil dried up, the United States military reentered the Middle East in force. China stepped in as opposition, having made functional relations with the Middle East a priority after their economic collapse in 2029. Various countries were pulled into the war, which was never officially acknowledged. 2.9 million soldiers perished in the desert.

In 2072, nuclear fire burned the surface of the Earth. Three nukes were launched, striking Washington, DC, Beijing, and Hong Kong. Just shy of 30 million people died in the blasts, and 70 million more would perish in the fallout. Most of Earth's governments collapsed, their populations tired of authoritarian police states failing to protect them. The US and China balkanized into a collection of smaller states. The EU shattered, Europe reverting to a political state reminiscent of the middle ages. Russia, essentially untouched due to its massive size and political irrelevance, stayed mostly intact but failed to capitalize on the power vacuum due to internal unrest.

A group of AI scientists got together in 2079, primarily hailing from Japan and the various American states. They created a program, cold and emotionless, to manage humanity. The AI was massive, composing a facility on Luna as big as the ruins of DC. However, it was smart enough to make its case to the human population, and by 2090 had either become either officially or unofficially the ruler of every human state. It called this arrangement the Human Systems-States Alliance, and positioned itself as the Head of the Government System, referred to by most as System.

While Earth was tearing itself apart, colonies were cropping up. Small freighters appeared to lift refugees out of the turmoil as early as 2068. When the bombs dropped, refugee evacuation became a career of sorts. The people were brought to the Alliance's many scattered colonies. Most notably, Elysium became a haven for refugees.

When System reestablished itself as the head of Earth government, it swiftly brought the colonies under its rule. While they initially chafed, they quickly realized System was more or less a hands off ruler. It realized that a truly free populace would not revolt, and kept taxes as low as it could.

In 2104, a lot of things had to change with the start of the First Contact War. The arrival of Turian forces signalled the end of the short peace era. System rapidly began delegating research and development to colonies, with Earth becoming an industrial powerhouse. Taxes began to rise to fund the newly critical military infrastructure, and once again unrest began to grow across Alliance space. While they were still held together by the common enemy, System recognized the deterioration of morale and unity as a long term problem.

The Defense Research Committee, established in 2100 in response to a wild animal attack crushing an outpost, became the core of Alliance resistance to the Turian invasion. System granted it a certain level of autonomy, as the AI was not creative enough to think up the new systems and innovations that would be required to win the war.

Meanwhile, it created a head of tactics on Arcturus Station, a gathering of the Alliance's greatest tactical minds. This small committee would never receive a name, but always be composed of System's choices from the space, ground, political, and intelligence forces. They were responsible for most of the maneuvering made by the Alliance during the First Contact War.

The Alliance developed a focus on guerrilla tactics and an avoidance of straight-up fights that the STG would relate to. While Turians outmassed them on the ground and in space, it was not impossible to defeat them with unorthodox approaches to space conflict.

It is well known that, in the end, the Earth saved humanity. Not by any of its people's industrial prowess or intellect, or because humanity was special, but because it had an ocean. In Citadel space, no Council race had ever fought open wars on the ocean save the Asari. For their part, aircraft played a very small part in their oceanic wars. This was mostly due to the power of biotics to destroy aircraft very easily, rendering the technology mostly useless until it eclipsed the navy on a strategic level.

This was not true for humans. Their world, and its lack of biotics, led to the development and dominance of aircraft carriers until the 2000s. While air battles eventually replaced the Navy in global conflicts, the lessons learned between 1914 and 2025 were not forgotten. Their space navy reflected this.

In 2107, the DRC approved Project Mothership. While it would not bear fruit until 2123, it was the thing that allowed humanity to truly fight off Turian invaders. Human motherships were massive by their standards, built in the orbit of gas giants. They shook out to roughly the size of a Turian battlecruiser, but had very few guns. Instead, they housed the new Human swarm ships, which amounted to a cold AI piloting a railgun with engines. They were captained and crewed by humans and robots alike, forming a military union that became the core of Alliance doctrine.

While the motherships were still not really comparable to Turian vessels, they were good enough and strange enough to throw off Turian attacks and, if they outnumbered the invaders, defend colonies.

While human space warfare was getting better, the ground was a series of horrible losses. The Alliance was rapidly taught the brutal uselessness of armor and infantry alike against Turians. The concept of kinetic barriers had not even been developed when the First Contact War began, a massive advantage to the Turians. The humans lost every ground battle from the start of the war. During this time, they tried various new technologies, most falling flat.

Development came only due to the insane dedication of one mad DRC scientist, Halfdan Black. He called the project GUNDAM, an adage to an old animated series. Black's work was largely unsuccessful and heavily reliant on the Dynamic Synthetic Musculature system. The innovation of one of his employees, Neil Kessler, would give birth to the LOKI framework. It involved the introduction of mass effect fields to stabilize the frame, and an AI core located under the pilot core to manage the non-combat side of piloting.

The LOKI prototype was functional in 2114, and demonstrated its capability to System. The infrastructure for mass production got all the funding previously granted to ground forces, and the Mechanized Exoskeletal Combat Harness was regarded as the hope for human ground assault. Unfortunately, the project was riddled with bugs and manufacturing issues. LOKI would not see combat until 2154, and humanity would lose battle after battle on the ground.

After the FCW ended, though, the importance of M.E.C.H.s was undeniable. Their performance on Shanxi, though cut short, was insanely impressive. The facilities to manufacture them were assembled on every colony, and most robotics corporations rushed to get their own competition. Charles Black took the credit for LOKI, and Neil Kessler left the DRC as a result, founding a company and creating a line of well-received low-cost mechs.

The peace talks of 2154 created significant tension between the Alliance and the Council. Deep space, silent operations had been instructed to ignore any hails until their mission was complete, something that would mar the Alliance's reputation for decades to come. Humans received a reputation as liars and turncoats. They were seen as crazy for the Neural Interface system and their heavy use of AI, especially System.

Concessions were made, and AI would not be developed further. This frustrated humanity, but they absolutely did not want war. The Council was not pleased, either, as they could not convince System to deconstruct itself or the Alliance to stop producing AI. Donnel Udina is largely credited with the continued existence of AI by managing to get human Cold AI classified as VIs by the Council. Such is the nature of compromises, and humanity became an associate race of the Council.

With their entry into Council Space came all the hazards of the galaxy, and humanity would suffer more before it finally gained its footing. Politics, tech development, scandals and incidents would all cause ups and downs for the Alliance, but it would survive, and go on to become the most powerful newcomer in Council Space.

 **Author's Note**

This is not a real update, do not expect this schedule to continue.

While this chapter is short, chapter 4 will be longer. This serves to cover the stuff that wouldn't fit in the narrative, but is important to human history. It's critical to understand why humans feel the way they do. Nobody really helps them out, just as in canon, but this time they are not special or super competent. They must suffer for every step they take, and struggle to become relevant on the world stage.

Luckily for them, 50 years of war will do a lot for your tech progression. As of 2183, the Alliance is a force to be reckoned with. While a united Council could defeat them pretty handily, the fight would be nasty, forcing a state of peace through fearing a repetition of the First Contact War.

With the end of this chapter, we will begin the narrative in force.


	5. Chapter 4

**++-SOMEWHERE, 2183-++**

Four men sat at a table. A soldier, a sailor, a speaker, and a spy. They were well aware that the discussion they were about to have would, perhaps, decide the fate of humanity. Each had with them a dossier, written on paper. Some would call it archaic. Anyone worth their salt would realize how grave those papers were. Irreplaceable, untraceable, and the only way to get them was to take them.

In other words, information, unfiltered and pure.

The sailor spoke first. "The Council has discreetly asked us to put forwards a Spectre candidate, as you all know. Just to make sure nobody gets lost, we're all going to put forward our candidates and pick the best one. Understood?" The other three men nodded.

"Good," he continued. "Then I'll start: Jacob Keyes. Man's the best pilot and leader we've ever had. He takes a team and makes them ten times as valuable, not to mention his tactical genius in the counterattack on Mindoir."

The spy and speaker glanced at each other, before the spy responded, "I like him, I do, but he's not a soldier. He belongs at the helm of a ship. And he's old, probably going to retire before too long. Unfortunately, Spectres don't guarantee their position to their race without a record of good performance. We can't rely on something falling into his lap before he calls it quits. If he even takes our offer."

"Then maybe we could take a look at Julian Minci. A strategic expert, young, strong. Shot down several Batarian fighters during his Navy career, and hacked apart some of their pirates with the Corsairs. Good kid, brave, kind," the speaker suggested.

Shaking his head, the sailor countered, "Too good for this, and you know that. He can't be counted on to make the hard decisions. Remember the Kreuzer incident, after all. And the boy's a born follower, still walking in his mentor's shadow."

The soldier and spy both nodded.

"Ian Cormac," the spy said. "Strong, smart, fast. Loyal to the Alliance in ways nobody else even can be. Stealthy, skilled with all vehicles and weapons." "I thought we wanted a man for this, not a weapon of mass destruction," the speaker protested. "Cormac would not only cause incident after incident, but destroy the Citadel in doing it!"

"You're exaggerating," the sailor said calmly, "but you have a point. Cormac is effective, but tends to leave a mess. And his conditioning is reprehensible on a good day. I'd rather not put him under public scrutiny, repercussions would be painful."

The room went quiet for a moment. Three sets of eyes looked at the one yet to speak.

"You've been awfully quiet, for someone who was once a candidate himself," the sailor observed. "Any suggestions, Anderson?"

The dossier slid forwards. A novella's worth of pages, with a picture clipped to them. The woman was in her twenties, with striking blue eyes and fair skin. Her hair was a distinctive red. The scar that ran down from her hairline, across her left eye, and to her jaw was enough for everyone sitting there to identify.

"What about Shepard? Born on Earth, so she's a soul they can relate to, but she's served her life in space. Leader of men, expert mech pilot, heavy weapon and tech specialist, tactical prowess second only to Keyes. Made hard decisions-" The speaker laughed. "You could say that. You want the Butcher of Torfan to be our face to the public? You're crazy." "He's not," the spy retorted. "She's also the hero of Elysium, in case you somehow forgot that. And Torfan is a black op, technically- open secret, but nobody knows exactly who was involved besides the DRC and Alliance brass."

"I think Udina has a point," the sailor frowned. "Can we trust her psyche? What if she snaps, Anderson?"

"She won't," he replied calmly. "I've known her since Detroit. Trust me- if there's one thing she won't do, it's crack under pressure. I'm worried about what the job will do to her soul, but we need her; humanity is on thin ice as it is."

"She's racist, too, you know that," Udina said, ignoring Anderson's obvious closure. "Will she work with Kryik?" "Believe it or not, Kryik suggested her to me. Apparently the Council told him before they told us," Anderson said bitterly. "That will set off any ill will she generates until I can get her over it."

The four men tapped, smoked, and sighed in unison. Only the spy remained silent.

"I think we have it," the sailor said. "I don't like it, but Shepard's the only candidate I can't refute on anything more solid than personal bias."

"Agreed," the spy groaned, "as much as I hate this. We're on the cusp of salvation or destruction, and just added our most volatile element to the mix." "I think that award probably goes to Mad Jack," Anderson observed dryly. The table chuckled, and some of the sobriety lifted. "Well, Udina, submit this to the Council. I'll get the Normandy to the Citadel with Shepard aboard by the end of the day."

 **++-SSV NORMANDY, 2183-++**

It could be said that Jane was dedicated to her work, and such sayers would not be far off mark. The real reason she spent so much time working on the Sentinel was a little more personal. It was home. It was the place she spent over 70 hours a week, more time than even her bunk. A couple of people had protested that it wasn't healthy, Anderson chief among them.

Suppressing the wash of guilt at remembering why he felt that way, Jane shut down the mech.

The Sentinel wasn't exactly stock, not any more. Jane had put a lot of time and love into refining it, smoothing out kinks in the NervOS and tuning it to her preferences. She had pioneered some of the applications that made her Sentinel so effective, enough to make it unique. Well, enough of that. The control plug hissed backwards, exposing her to the bright lights of the Normandy's service bay. She stretched and clambered up onto the service deck.

The cool air of the recycled atmosphere was refreshing. The one problem with her home was how stuffy it was. Jane made for the elevator, passing by an overenthusiastic Richard Jenkins.

"Hey, Commander!" The boy was obviously thrilled. Someone had sucked up a little too much Alliance propaganda. "I was hoping for some advice on what programs to put on my mech. I hear you have a lot of experience with that. Do you use Shield Boost? What about Overload? My buddies at basic told me a story of a tech mine blowing up inside the launcher and frying the pilot, can that really happen? What about concussive shot, will that really warp the barrel of your gun or is it safe?"

The deluge washed over her, and Jane just glared at him as she stepped onto the elevator. Way too much energy for his own good, and she was tired after programming for a little too long.

"Feel like saluting at some point, Corporal?"

Her voice was like a whip, and the elevator doors closed as Jenkins blanched, hastily throwing a salute. Jane was glad when they covered his face.

A pinging on her omni tool added to the irritation. The Spectre they'd picked up wanted to talk to her, according to Anderson. Great. Turians and humans didn't really get along, and Jane was no exception. Bastards had nothing good for humans. There was no help from them with pirates or slavers when the Alliance was busy reforming their military to a conventional one. A change that wouldn't have had to happen if the fucking birds hadn't gone nuts blowing humans out of the sky. Mindoir had happened because of them. Most of the uglier things Jane had seen in Detroit would have been avoided if the turians had helped humans integrate. Instead, they destroyed several economic centers that as of the end of 2182, had yet to revive.

Ranting inside her own head, Jane realized. She was no better than Jenkins.

Nihlus Kryik sat comfortably in the conference room. Something of a stroke of brilliance by that Alliance engineer, Bruno von Silberberch, he observed. The seat was comfortable. There were special overhead walkways and seats for the humans, and a holographic viewing device in the middle. Very well put together.

"You called?" The voice rang out from above, amplified by a sound system. Nihlus had to stifle a chuckle; human voices sounded to him awfully like a popular pet on Palaven.

"Yes, Commander," answered the turian, now gravely serious. He paused for a beat, watching Captain Anderson walk up next to her. "An agent of mine picked up an Alliance distress call. From Eden Prime."

A tinny, high pitched gasp came over the speakers.

"I know," Nihlus intoned, any humor long since forgotten, "it isn't good. Here's the vid."

On the viewer, a recording came into view. Three human mechs defended a spaceport from an unseen attacker. Blue bolts of energy lashed out from seemingly nowhere, armored alien forms flickering in and out of existence. In the middle of one such flicker, Nihlus paused the video to show a slender form, reminiscent of a Quarian. After a long, awkward pause, he remembered that most humans had no visual point of reference for the Geth, being so new on the galactic stage. With a flanging sigh, he explained it to them.

"Shit," both humans muttered in unison.

Ever vigilant, Anderson recovered from surprise first, saying, "Play the vid. Let's see what's going on."

A talon tapped away at an omni-tool, and the vid started.

The three soldiers, all piloting the ubiquitous Hahne-Kedar Predators that had rolled out a couple years back. While they were Alliance stock mechs, they were still no joke, tougher than a turian and as fast as a salarian. Nihlus knew that from experience, so he was surprised to see the mechs being pushed back by volume of fire. A rocket took out the foremost mech, and then the pilot of the cam feed started talking.

"Dammit, can't anyone read us? Why the hell aren't our beacons getting offworld? Where the hell is CentCom, Arcturus!? It's-" an explosion of static rocked the screen- "...r the beacon. OH, SHIT!" Another rocket flew out from nowhere, this time targeting the cam feed. A loud explosion came across the comms, and the video rocked, the mech slamming to the ground.

"I would hazard," Shepard said dryly, "that the situation has just evolved." Nihlus frowned. He'd heard she was a kind person, with a deep sense of empathy. Yet here she was making jokes about soldiers that died fighting something the Citadel had hoped never to see again. If the glance he thought he saw Anderson give the tiny woman was any indication, the Captain felt the same way.

With a polite cough, Nihlus attempted to steer the conversation back on course. "Commander, Captain, please focus, the video has more."

The pilot oriented his mech shakily as a heavy Phoenix with pink and white paint righted him.

"Oh… oh god. Dot- what is that?"

[No data on such an object, Private.]

Something akin to a hand was dropping out of the sky, fingers splayed as if to grasp Eden Prime itself and take it. And then it roared. Even through the static of the comms, the sound put primal fear into Kryik's gizzard. That was something that hadn't happened in years.

"Well that's fun," Shepard snarked. "We're gonna do what about that, exactly? Is our big, strong Tur-"

"We're just going to extract the beacon," Anderson cut her off, "and get our men the hell out of there. You guys are going to need to suit up, stat; Shepard, come with me first."

The two groups went their separate ways, Nihlus through the full size corridors and the humans through their small, special walkways.

As soon as they were out of the room, Anderson spun Shepard by the shoulder. Normally, an older guy like him shouldn't have been able to manhandle a soldier in her prime. But times had changed- mech pilots generally didn't need amazing physical prowess. Anderson had kept up his routine from before the First Contact War, and in this case, it was very helpful. He jabbed a finger at her, face a mask of wrath.

"What the hell was that, Shepard? You trying to cause an incident?" he snapped, surprised at how forceful he was being. "Spectre Kryik, unlike most turians, is a human sympathizer! If we make a bad impression now-"

Cutting him off as payback, Shepard slapped his hand away, a shocking display. "I doubt my fucking attitude will matter, Anderson. You and I both know the Alliance wouldn't pick me for candidate." Her voice was icy, blue eyes as hard as steel. It contrasted with the girl Anderson had picked up from Elysium all those years ago. "Not after Torfan."

"They didn't," Anderson agreed, adopted a comfortable stance of parade rest, "Nihlus did." An expression of shock rolled across Shepard's face. He could practically read her mind right now. A turian? Picked me? But what, why? Or something to that effect, at least. "He saw your record. Saw what you did at Elysium. Read our psych evals… probably didn't manage to get his hands on the real ones, if I was reading his expression right in there. But you're about to throw all of that away!"

Cowed, the redhead leaned against the wall of the corridor. Overhead, soft blue lights cast deep shadows over her face.

"You're right, sorry," she said stiffly, a little too fast to have really meant it. Anderson suppressed a cringe; pity was not what she needed or wanted. Really, he would have honorably discharged her after Akuze, but the brass hadn't wanted to give up their poster girl. Her eyes looked up at him, no longer steely but empty, dead. Like a fish too long out of water.

Anderson watched sadly as she wandered away, towards Alenko and Jenkins most likely. Releasing the parade rest, he took the opposite path, thoughts swirling in his head. Some surrogate father he was. The poor girl had taken to him like a baby duck when he first met her, right after basic. But here he was yelling at her about scandals, like some kind of politician.

"Damn it all," he said. None of this was going according to plan. The days of running and gunning were over for him, but his soul still longed for the simplicity of the battlefield. It was bad, out there, but at least he didn't have to try to be a politician. He knew he ought to retire soon, and encourage Shepard to come with him; God knew she needed it.

Shaking himself out of the funk, Anderson made it to the bridge. Joker would need to know about this if he was going to take them in silence. They hadn't made the last jump yet, there was still time. He keyed open the human size door, wondering if there was a turian size equivalent somewhere on the ship.

"Joker," he greeted.

"Captain Anderson," Joker said. "I'd salute, but I've got better things to do. You missed it, by the way. Just under 1500k drift." True to his word, his fingers were tapping away at the controls.

"Impressive. Well, I've got something fun for you," the old Captain grimaced, "Time to try out the Normandy's stealth functions. Turn off our IFF and toggle the sinks, son."

"Finally, some action. Been itching to try these out. She flies as well as they promised, surprising for something so big, but let's see if her stealth holds up."

"We'd better hope so. I assume you eavesdropped? Didn't hear a question," Anderson said with a smile, eyebrow raised.

Joker grinned sheepishly, "You could say that."

* * *

Pills again. The pain would go away soon, most likely. At least, that was what Kaidan Alenko hoped for. He was calibrating the NervOS interface on his implants when they had one of their little irregularities and nearly sent him sprawling. The worst was over, but it still sucked. Not to mention the biotic flareups. He hated having useless 'powers,' but hated even more that his headaches could trigger them. The scattered papers around his room were testament to that fact.

And then, to add insult to injury, the legendary Commander Jane Shepard, hero of Elysium, walked in the door.

Scrambling to his feet, he slammed the cap back on the bottle and threw a salute. Damn, what an inopportune time for this visit.

"At ease, Alenko," Shepard said. Her posture was rigid, like a machine, eyes unreadable and face impassive. Reminded him of his MTIs. Damn, was his room that bad? "Clean yourself up and get ready for a combat drop in two hours. Bad news from Elysium- pickup just became rescue." Staring, Kaidan waited for her to leave. It didn't seem like she was going to at first, but eventually she made her way out of the room.

That was… weird. If the Commander didn't want to talk, she ought to have just said something over the comms. For his part, Kaidan had wanted to say something to her, but found that he couldn't. Her presence had just oozed ice, and it sank into his veins, killing the potential conversation. Something seemed weird about that- it didn't suit her reputation at all. Alenko shook it off, and looked around his room. Taking a few minutes to clean up probably wouldn't hurt the mission.

* * *

The three crack mech pilots locked and loaded, and a turian Spectre with armor and guns good enough that Jane didn't think she could take him. Not even in her Sentinel Custom. Together they would be unstoppable, with Nihlus as the lightning and the Alliance fireteam playing thunder. The Normandy shuttle swooped low over a clearing with rocks jutting out of the grass, and the fireteam dropped. They were smooth, professional, and respectable.

Well, two thirds of the fireteam was. Jane and Alenko watched bemusedly as Jenkins fumbled the landing. Most likely the kid's first deployment; nerves had to be getting to him. That, or he'd calibrated the Kessler I's balance systems wrong. Jane would like to think her troops were a little more professional than that.

"Come on, Jenkins, get a grip," Alenko said, stabilizing the young pilot's mech with an arm from his own Scorpion. "You're a professional, right?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Jane saw something move in the trees behind the shuttle. Her shoulder gun locked on, but she was slower than Alenko to pull the trigger. It… popped?

"Jesus! Jesus, man! It's just a gasbag," Jenkins exclaimed. "Eden Prime's very own native wildlife. Kinda ugly, but harmless."

"Are you done making fools of yourselves, or can we get going," Nihlus sighed. The derision was palpable, and as much as Jane hated it there was little wrong with the Spectre's judgement. At least, given what evidence he had been. "As I said before, I'll be going ahead. Just follow my lead; I doubt you guys can be as stealthy as I can, so follow the path I'm adding to your battlenet."

Sure enough, a route that skirted the edge of the dig site was plotted. It would take them along the edge of a drop and up to the forest.

"Got it, Spectre," Jane acknowledged formally. "Let's go, team."

The mechs formed up, Jenkins and Alenko's light mechs pushing ahead of Jane's heavier one. Ideally, their faster reflexes and traversal speeds would let them get to cover before any major damage occurred. Something like that was impossible for a mech like Jane's. Excitable young Jenkins was drifting past his squadmate, though, dangerous even in the massive vehicle.

"Jenkins-" the order to stay in line with Alenko was cut short by the whine of automatic gunfire. Almost. It sounded off, somehow. "Jenkins!"

The Kessler was nailed by three drones at once, strange blue rounds tearing apart his barrier like it was a joke. Credit where it was due- Jenkins followed his training and ducked for cover. The bullets(?) tore up dirt and stone alike, but his dive saved him.

Pushing the Sentinel to its limit, Jane tried to close the distance. The M-74 on her shoulder chattered, reducing one drone to scrap. Alenko's Scorpion peeked out from cover and sent a missile at the second.

The third mindlessly bore down on Jenkins, tearing through the chestplate. It was gunning right for the pilot core.

"Eject, Rich, eject!" Alenko screeched.

"I can't, something- something's-"

The drone evaporated in a flash of blue light, the force of the detonation sending Alenko sprawling, and causing Jane to stumble. By the time her Sentinel finished righting itself, the Kessler was gone from the waist up. Smoke roiled out, tinted with the blue fire of eezo.

Jane looked to Alenko, her mech righting his with some effort.

"Commander- what-"

"Suicide bomb, I think."

"...ah. Is- can we pay some respects, at least?" His voice trembled.

"To what, some giant metal legs? Pull yourself together, Alenko," growled Jane. "We're on a ticking clock, and in case you didn't notice, there's a lot on the line."

"Yes- yes, Commander," Alenko said shakily. But, despite her words, Jane stopped by the wreckage for a moment. The pilot core had been totally, completely destroyed. The bombs on those things were no joke, then.

More plasma fire cut her musings short. Jane reoriented to face the attacker, surprised to see a full size mech staring her down. A snake with a singly glowing eye made for the head atop a Quarian-like body. Definitely Geth.

The plasma rounds hit her then. It soon became evident that they hadn't torn through Jenkins' shield, but bypassed it, like amplified phasic rounds. Searing heat pricked across her chest, feeding back through NervOS and into her body. Not a good sign, as the Sentinel was supposed to be tough as nails.

The other things it was supposed to be were tech specialist and heavy fire support.

The heavy gun on her shoulder, an M-71 Wraith, opened up on the Geth as Jane hurried to cover. The MG was accurate enough to push them into cover at the top of the hill. Alenko, meanwhile, finished readying his sidearm and the thing that made his mech special: a low power GARDIAN laser.

"Commander, my reactor can fuel five shots before I have to conserve energy for movement," Alenko called, voice still weak. His Scorpion's head and arm peeked out of cover long enough to take some shots at the Geth. "Think we should use them here?"

"Negative, I want to try something," Jane replied. The tech mine launcher in her left arm folded out, and Jane aimed it at the left side geth. With a clunk, an Overload mine sailed into its cover, electricity rocking its body and sending it jerkily into the open. For his part, Alenko was able to nail it with a few more shots from his pistol and finish it off.

At that, Jane pushed out of cover and up the hill. Seeing her plan, Alenko sent his own Overload at the second Geth, and very similar results followed.

"Nihlus, do you read me?" Jane asked. For a moment, only static replied, and then the turian's voice came through.

"I read you," he said. "Heard some gunfire, did you run into Geth scouts?"

"We did, they got Jenkins. Their guns go through barriers, be careful."

"Thanks for- wait. Saren? I'll call you back, Shepard."

"Nihlus-" but the comm was dead. Jane hurriedly tried to raise the Normandy, but either they were too far away or jamming was too strong. "Damn. Let's keep moving."

They tramped towards the forest, awkward silence settling over the pair. Another duo of Geth met a predictable fate, even with a drone as backup, for Jane and Alenko now knew the trick to it. They were passing through the trees, careful not to get ambushed, when a distant gunshot rang out.

"Nihlus," Jane tried again, with no luck. "Dammit, answer me!"

"Commander, is everything alright?" Genuine worry? Or just concern about combat effectiveness? Jane frowned to herself.

"For now. Just stay alert, Lieutenant."

"Yes, ma'am." His voice was recovering. That was good, at least. Jane felt a little bad about the Jenkins thing, now that the anger had subsided. They had clearly been friends, given the nickname she'd heard towards the end there.

As the two pilots moved to advance, the air began to hum. It permeated the sound dampeners of the Sentinel, Jane realized. She wasn't hearing it through the speakers but resonating with it, in her bones and blood. The hum ramped up, gentle at first then sharp. It shook the whole planet, and rising up from the horizon was the fist of an angry god.

After the momentary panic receded, Jane collected herself. She and Alenko shared a look before raising the Normandy on the comms.

"Ground team to Normandy. Joker, stay clear of that ship," she warned. "Something tells me that- hey. Joker? Joker?"

"Looks like Geth jamming again. They must be nearby."

Looking out through the cameras of her mech, Jane tried not to bring her hands to her face. It wouldn't help anyways. This mission had gone from bad to completely fucked. Eden Prime was supposed to be a bastion of humanity's strength. Instead, Geth had landed, cut down comms, and wiped the defenders like nothing.

Another staccato burst of gunfire interrupted the silence. This time, the source was obvious and close: a heavy Alliance mech sprinting their way while suppressing several Geth assailants with its sidearm. Plasma scoring marked its hull, and it was alone- but it was functional.

"Move to support!"

The Sentinel Custom's MG roared as it clunked down the hill as fast as it could, hands reaching onto its back to take the claymore into both hands. Jane charged down the hill, her weight adding enough momentum to become a temporary juggernaut. This backed up by the wash of non-Newtonian fluid that coated her mech's armor at the press of a button.

Geth plasma was good enough to take chunks out of the Immunity Fluid, but it wasn't enough to penetrate. The Sentinel's heavy footsteps tore up the earth as it thundered downhill, smashing with its full weight into one unfortunate Geth trooper. Despite how powerful their guns were, Jane was surprised to find their mechs relatively flimsy. They likely relied on shields more than armor, a fatal error in close combat. Evidently, they'd yet to face Alliance forces.

Now that Jane had closed in, she counted five Geth. Alenko had moved to support the pilot, sending pistol rounds into Geth shields. Jane had earlier observed that the walking ones were too well shielded for even her MG to take down quickly. The newcomer was better off. His quick thinking had the heavy mech turned around by the time Jane was at the bottom of the hill, MGs already providing heavy fire support.

The claymore's edge shined orange as it cut through the Geth and the stone it hid behind. At that, all remaining Geth started to fire on her. Jane pushed through it, chopping a second in half at the waist before they could react. Now just three, the Geth wised up and approached, likely aiming to press their number advantage. It was well timed, as the fluid was draining off her armor already.

It was not well thought out, as Jane took advantage of the close quarters, her claymore, and the Sentinel Custom's great strength to sweep her heat blade through all three at once. Synthetic blood spattered the ground and her armor.

Jane reattached the claymore to her back, wiping off an optical sensor. Alenko and the pilot- Gunnery Chief Williams, according to IFF- stared at Jane.

"Commander, that- that was insane! What if they got you before your fluid wore off, or if Geth plasma passed through it like our barriers?"

"Well, it didn't-"

"With all due respect, Commander, that was suicidal," Alenko cautioned.

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, that was necessary," Jane countered. "Five of them! Our launchers can't fabricate tech mines that fast. We'd have been chewed apart. Now stay focused and let me do my thing. Gunny, you good to go? We're down a man for an important mission."

"Um, yes, Commander," the Chief replied, somewhat nonplussed by the whiplash of the conversation. Jane noted 'he' was a she. Her twin MGs were both functional, and if the broadsword on her back and shield on her arm were any indicator, she would be a valuable addition to the team's frontline.

"Then fall in. We're looking for the beacon," Jane explained, assuming Williams knew what it was. "Do you know it's status?"

"Negative, Commander, but last I saw it, it was still at the dig site. We should start there." Williams' mech gestured further down the wide slope, at some distant structures visible over the rocks.

[Commander, be advised. I detect stronger jamming in that area. Patterns observed thus far indicate an increased Geth presence in such areas.]

That would be MECH-Specific Subsystem Manager Unit. With the wonderful acronym of MSSMU, they were almost always given nicknames by their pilots. Jane had taken it a step further, customizing hers in ways that probably pushed the legality of the cold AI past the breaking point. Intelligent Control Entity is what she dubbed it, a nice acronym more important to her than the actual meaning of the letters.

"Thanks, ICE," Jane acknowledged off comms. Switching back, she said, "Several Geth detected around there, pilots. Keep your wits sharp. Hammer formation."

The three mechs assumed Hammer formation: Jane and Williams as the frontline, backed up by Alenko, who would rely on the heavy mechs to provide cover. The walk would take several minutes at least, the jamming limiting their senses to optical and auditory.

"Commander," Williams said, breaking the silence. "Thanks for saving my hide. Me and the Phoenix would have been Geth food otherwise."

Sighing, Jane resolved to have a discussion with her crew later. They were too unprofessional- Geth could appear at any time. The only reason she didn't reprimand Williams right there was that the pilot had likely been stuck fighting since the Geth landed.

"How long ago did they land?" Alenko.

"Seventeen hours and forty minutes."

"...counting the minutes til reinforcements, huh? Sorry we were so late."

"Not your fault, I guess. Looks like comms are jammed planetwide, which is crazy, but if that's the case we were lucky to get you guys as early as we did."

They chattered the whole walk to the dig site, which was uneventful. Jane assumed any Geth that had been watching it must have moved forwards to hunt Williams. Or perhaps not. The dig site was empty, and a quick glance at the dirt indicated that something had been ripped out not too long ago.

"No dice, Williams. The Geth have the beacon. Where are they taking it?" Williams explained to her that it was most likely the spaceport, which they could get to via the tram, which was just north of the dig site. But her voice was laced with hesitation, and the reason why followed as soon as she was done speaking.

"But honestly, Commander, we'd have to be pretty lucky to get there before the Geth pull out. If that dreadnought is gone, they must not think they need it any more," she observed.

"I think Williams has a point, Commander," Alenko added. "But we don't have much of a choice. Without any way to hail the Normandy, we'll need to go there whether or not the beacon is offworld: we'll need a ship."

"You're probably right," Jane ceded. "But we'll operate under the assumption that the beacon is here. Now form up and move out, Pilots. We've got a beacon to rescue."

 **Codex: Omni-Gel**

Omni-Gel is widely regarded as the most valuable technological development by mankind yet. A small swarm of non-replicating nanites that automatically repair whatever they touch, limited only by their inability to repair computers and other complex electronics. They are invaluable tools for soldiers on the battlefield, replacing lost armor and repairing broken parts. Better still, a team of Salarian scientists has led the charge in medical applications for omni-gel. Certain omni-tool programs can instruct the nanites in surgical and first aid procedures. Council Spectres have noted the value of such programs, immediately adopting them.

Alliance Doctor Karin Chakwas is noted to have commented on the adaptation of omni-gel, calling it "the most wondrous thing [she has] ever seen, turning a tool of war into a life saving medicine."

 **Author's Note 10/30/19**

Early to give answer to a couple reviewers I missed last chapter due to business and because I finished this almost a week ago. Don't expect me to be posting this much in the future.

CheesusChrist15 was wondering why humanity joined the citadel. I'll TLDR it real quick; I must not have been clear enough in the story, for which I apologize.

Humanity is not the military genius it is in canon.

It's nothing special, but pressured into being hard as diamonds by the waves of history and the tides of fate. They could probably beat the turians in a fight, or the asari, or the salarians- but not all three. It would be a brutal fight, but humanity would lose. Not to mention, they're still recovering from the war and are plagued by pirates. This isn't a humanity fuck yeah story. If anything, it's actually a major nerf to canon humanity, making them take a reasonable amount of time to get up to where they are at the beginning of Mass Effect. Even their successes at Shanxi were narrow, requiring a stealth attack and two of their most powerful vessels, along with a little luck and teams of crack pilots. Only after the end of the FCW have they started winning regularly.

Not to mention, they're culturally stunted due to how much of their society was converted to military matters during the FCW. The nations of Earth have become nothing but shadows of their former selves, the Alliance Military being the real political power at hand. The capital of the Alliance Parliament is Arcturus Station and not Earth because things like "sentiment over the cradle" had to be sacrificed for practicality. Humans are mostly quite racist still, fearful of outsiders, secretive, and coming down from a cultural status of "backs to the wall."

To pteaset, thank you for sticking by this story after all this time. Your dedication is part of what inspires me, in no small way.

To rspendragon and anonymous guest, thanks for reviewing. Your words are appreciated.

To everyone who followed and favorited, I'm glad you enjoy my work. Say hi some time.


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